A Christmas Story | Page 4

kin and she ought to
know her duty to a sister's child.'
'Yes, but she might bring the disease to my little children! she'--'That's
in the hands of Providence, marm.'
I ram a handkerchief down my mouth and choke--
'Well, as it is not your fault I need not speak to you--but please be so
kind as to call Thomas, I only want him for a moment.' The celebrated
Mrs. Phillips heaved a sigh, pregnant with bread, butter, cold meat and
ale; and slid out of the room, crunching her way down stairs. I peeped
at my sister--she looked pale and very anxiously perplexed, I pinched
myself and kept silent. In a few minutes a voice was heard singing up
the back stairs and--enter Sabina spread out with starch and heavily
pomaded hair. 'Mrs. Phillips sent me to tell you marm that she had to
make her gruel and the fire was low--and that Thomas had gone home.'
'Why, what time is it, Sabina?'

'Eight o'clock,' I enunciate distinctly. For one moment Mary's eyes lit
up with something like heroism, but before she could frame a sentence,
the playful want of interest exhibited by Sabina, who leaned against the
mantel-piece, straightening her cuffs, did the business, and she
collapsed.
'Please tell Thomas, when he comes to-morrow, Sabina, I would rather
not have him go home quite as early, because you see,' (oh how I
mentally groaned at this humiliating nonsense,) 'I might want him. You
won't forget, will you, Sabina?'
'No, marm. Is there anything else?' Having now made herself prim, and
taken a quiet survey of the library and viewed me carefully, she was
now desirous of retiring.
'One moment, Sabina,' said Mary, beginning to realize her false
position before me, 'Who is down stairs?'
'Well, I couldn't tell you, marm.'
'Why not?'
'There are so many.'
'How, do you mean so many?'
'Why, marm, it's the cook's birthday; and she thought you would'nt
mind her having a few friends, so she invited her cousins,' (looking at
me as though she would ask, 'what have you got to say to that, Mr.
Man?')
'Well, Sabina,' said Mary, coloring up in confusion, 'just sign your
name to this--it is only as a witness.'
'I cannot write, marm,' answered dandy Amazon, very short at being
exposed.
'Then send Elizabeth here.'

'She is out too, marm.'
'What? Elizabeth has gone out?'
'Yes marm, you see,' (becoming confidential,) 'the cook and her has
quarrelled like--she neglected to ask her to her little party till late this
evening, and so she got huffy and put on her things and dashed out of
the house,' (at this time I had either an attack of the ague or was
laughing so hard internally that it leaked through.)
'Is Dinah in?'
'Yes marm.'
'Ask her, please, to come here.'
Sabina tripped off with a satisfied air, and five--ten--fifteen minutes
elapsed and no Ellen. I took out my memorandum and quickly wrote
down a few valuable plans on the coming campaign. The clock struck
half past eight, and my sister opened the entry door and listened--the
kitchen door soon shut and somebody came up stairs slowly, with a
waiter full of something.
'Is that you, Dinah?'
'Yes marm.'
'Why didn't you come before?'
'I don't know, mum.'
'Didn't Sabina tell you I wanted you?'
'No, mum. She told me you wanted to know how many were down
stairs, and I counted seventeen.'
'Take care Dinah, you're spilling that milk!'
'I can't help it, this pitcher leaks.'

'Where's the children's bowl?'
'I don't know, mum--I think it's broke.'
'Broken! Why, I bought a new one yesterday.'
''Tain't my fault.'
Hopelessly resigned, my sister Mary politely requested her to put down
the waiter, and explained the nature of a witness's duty. We
acknowledged our signatures and Dinah wrote out her name in a neat
hand, then picked up the waiter and walked out of the room with the air
of an injured innocent.
I jumped up, kissed my sister, informed her that for the next three
months she was to be a passive observer, asked her to retire, locked up
the contract, and gave the bell one pull that brought half the household
to the door.


PART II.
A MAN'S PLAN.
As the servants rushed into the library they found me quietly reading a
book and puffing at the pages. I slightly raised my eyes to this back
ground of faces on which might be seen, surprise, anger, impertinence,
curiosity and excitement. I slowly placed my book half open across my
knee, with my hand resting on the cover, and with the other taking my
segar out of my mouth, knocked the ashes off into a little glass tub;
elevated my eyebrows and asked in perfect astonishment, yet measured
tones:
'What-is-the-matter?'

'That's